


bittersweet

by betterthanoxygen



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, but events from 3x01 and 3x05 have also taken place, canon compliant until 2x08, eve is angry but also sort of in love, eve villanelle carolyn and konstantin team up to take down the twelve, ft. the vasiliev sisters (villanelle & irina), in (villanelle's voice) CUUUBBAAA
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24470986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betterthanoxygen/pseuds/betterthanoxygen
Summary: “Rome was part of the plan. The shooting was not. You had to think we had betrayed you. It was the only way we could convince The Twelve you were no longer an asset.”When Kenny is mysteriously killed, Carolyn reapproaches Eve with a new mission: to take down The Twelve once and for all.Enter one angry Eve, still reeling from having been shot and left for dead in Rome, a tired, disgruntled Konstantin, a matter-of-fact Carolyn, and -“Hi, Eve.”
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 166
Kudos: 497





	1. bad heart

The funeral invitation comes in the post on a miserable Saturday afternoon in late August, just days after Niko sends the divorce papers through from the rehab clinic. 

It’s not even 4pm and Eve’s already on her second glass of wine, stomach empty, somewhere in that foggy place between tipsy and drunk. 

She had been midway through chopping the carrots for a Sunday roast before she realised it was not in fact Sunday, and Elena wouldn’t be there for another 24 hours. She was almost finished peeling the potatoes by the time she remembered their plans were for next Sunday, not this one. 

But still, the alcohol has settled warm in her stomach and the music is playing just loud enough that she can barely form a coherent thought and for now it’s enough.

She jolts when she hears the letterbox go, and then shrugs and dances through the hallway. She picks it up with one hand, glass of red wine in the other, and then tears open the envelope.

The words _In loving memory of Kenny Stowton, 1996 - 2020, A gentle soul,_ are embossed, gold, onto the thick card. 

Her glass of red wine drops to the floor, shatters against her bare foot. 

“Fuck,” she hisses, wincing at the sharp cut of glass against skin. She watches curiously, morbidly, as the thin red of her Tesco Value Malbec spills into the thick red of her blood. 

Kenny’s picture stares up at her, smiling and kind and _young_ , and the grief settles in the familiar place between her ribs.

/

One week later, Eve finds herself outside Carolyn’s house. 

It is an overcast day in London. But then it always is, she thinks blandly, taking one final pull of her cigarette and putting it out on Carolyn’s front step.

She jabs at the doorbell, once, twice, three times in quick succession, and then holds the buzzer down for a fourth time until the door swings open.

Carolyn stands in front of her, dressed in all black, seemingly unbothered by Eve’s outburst. 

“Eve, how nice of you to join us,” Carolyn says, beckoning her in.

Eve just rolls her eyes. 

“You’re looking well,” Carolyn continues, leading her through the hallway into the kitchen. 

She doesn’t answer. She feels like shit. She knows she looks like shit too. 

Konstantin is sitting at the kitchen table. Of course he is. 

“It is good to see you, Eve,” he says, swallowing a mouthful of pasta.

She fixes him with a dead stare. 

“This isn’t Kenny’s wake,” she says flatly. 

“No,” Carolyn agrees. “The funeral was this morning. This is a meeting. A very important one, too. Please, take a seat. I do hope you like linguine carbonara.”

“Wow,” Eve scoffs. She shakes her head in disbelief. “This is low, Carolyn, even for you.”

Carolyn purses her lips, nods once. “Perhaps. Would you like a drink?”

Behind her, Kenny’s picture stands in the centre of the living room, staring Eve dead in the eyes. Beside it the table is filled with flowers and condolences cards. She swallows back the bile that rises to her throat, turning back to the kitchen.

“Gin and tonic.”

Carolyn pulls a bottle of something expensive from the kitchen counter, and then takes a seat next to Konstantin at the table. 

“Now, I’m going to tell you something, and you are not going to like it, but you really must listen.”

She makes a vague gesturing motion for Eve to sit, but Eve just crosses her arms and stays firmly in place. 

Carolyn sighs. “Very well. Rome was part of the plan. The shooting was not. You had to think we had betrayed you. It was the only way we could convince The Twelve you were no longer an asset.”

Eve stares. She stares and she forces herself not to think of Hugo’s hot, wet blood in her palms, the sweeping of the axe as it went through Raymond’s shoulder, his neck, his head, Villanelle’s eyes, sparkling, her honey-warm breath, her smile, her frown, the cold shock of the bullet, the heavy, blooming ache, the blistering sun, the sirens.

She forces herself not to think of it because she can’t. She can’t because it almost killed her, that life she had. It almost killed her and it ruined her marriage and it took her best friend, it killed Hugo and Raymond and - and now Kenny.

She forces herself not to think about it and yet her mind conjures the images up effortlessly anyway.

Sometimes it comes to her like a fever dream, halfway suspended between fiction and reality, watercolour-hazy and red. Hot, wet red. Right now though, it’s high definition, crystal clear, so clear that she can smell the heavy, iron tang of blood, so strong she can almost taste it.

“That’s bullshit,” she says finally. 

“We were trying to protect you-” Konstantin starts.

“Oh please,” Eve hisses. “Don’t pretend for one second that you ever think of anyone but yourself.” She looks up to the ceiling and lets out a deep sigh. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry for your loss, Carolyn, I am. But whatever this is? I can’t do it. Not again.”

She turns to leave, but Carolyn gets out of her chair and reaches towards her.

“Kenny is dead, Eve.”

Eve stills. 

“He’s dead,” she continues, “and we believe it was The Twelve that did it. He had been looking into the account connected to Fat Panda and Villanelle’s apartment in Paris. Unfortunately, he kept this quiet from me. He was found dead last week. Suspected suicide.”

“Suicide,” Eve repeats. She shakes her head. “Kenny wouldn’t - he -”

“He wouldn’t,” Carolyn agrees, voice final. She clears her throat. “Do you know, in all my years, everything The Twelve has done has felt so… distant. I can’t help but feel everything has suddenly become very personal.” 

“We have a plan,” Konstantin begins, “to put an end to the Twelve. To put an end to this. To get out.”

“ _You_ want out?” Eve scoffs. “Bullshit.”

Konstantin lets out a loud, bellowing laugh, eyes wide. “Hah, Eve, do you really think I want this? Really? I am too old! I have a bad heart,” he rubs his chest, “I am ready to retire. I can’t do this forever.”

Carolyn nods. “The Twelve has been operating for many decades now, but never has the leadership been so… unstable. Our plan is simple. We will go above the Twelve, to the international crime syndicate that controls them. We have intel that the central leadership is becoming increasingly displeased with the Twelve’s conduct, and we would like to use that to our advantage.”

“So like, a coup?”

“Of sorts, yes.”

“So what, you’re just going to storm over to…”

“Cuba,” Konstantin supplies, forking a mouthful of pasta. 

“Right, to Cuba,” Eve rolls her eyes, “of course. And then you’re going to, what? Waltz on over to their headquarters and ask if you two can run The Twelve instead?”

“Not quite. As we understand it, there is a group in Havana that would be open to a change of leadership. Luckily, there is a small faction in Havana that would be interested in taking on the role.”

Eve squints. “Okay, so let me get this right. Your plan to destroy one dangerous international crime organisation is to get tangled up in… an even more dangerous criminal organisation?”

“Yes,” Carolyn says simply, unblinking. “If we do this successfully, they will be indebted to us. Not vice versa.”

“They will leave us alone,” Konstantin says, eyes serious. 

“That’s-” Eve shakes her head, disbelieving. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “I still don’t - I. Tell me why I’m here, Carolyn. What do you want from me?”

Carolyn sighs. “Yes, I was worried you’d ask that.”

“Well?”

Konstantin clears his throat, sets his cutlery down.

“It was…” He winces, as if he’s trying to find the right words. “It was her only condition,” he says carefully. 

“What?” Eve says, but the dread is already pooling at the pit of her stomach.

She looks over to the table, to the four places that have been set, and thinks _no, no, no -_

“Please, Eve, before we go any further, may I remind you-" Carolyn begins, but Eve isn’t listening.

She isn’t listening because she knows it’s about to happen the second before it does.

It’s like the energy in the room changes. It drops, or it heightens, Eve’s not quite sure, she just knows that there’s something – there’s something, and -

It’s the smell, it’s her familiar acid-sweet, honey-rich perfume that makes Eve’s stomach lurch.

A wet, cold sweat creeps up the back of her neck. 

Villanelle walks into view, eyebrows raised, hands in her pockets, a small smile on her lips.

“Hi, Eve.”


	2. you should try lemon juice

Eve is out of her seat in an instant, stalking across the room.

All she can see is Villanelle, who is smirking and then frowning as Eve gets closer, past the dining table and the kitchen entrance way into the hall, all while Villanelle slowly backs away.

She’s close enough now that she can thrash at Villanelle’s chest, so she does. She lunges towards her and puts all her effort into shoving her backwards. Villanelle doesn’t fight back, but she doesn’t take it either. Instead she’s all slick defence, blocking each of Eve’s throws easily.

And just when Eve is about to push Villanelle into the wall, Villanelle switches their positions, flipping Eve around in one swift, practised movement and pressing her forearm to her neck.

Villanelle leans in, pressing their bodies together. “So rude, Eve. Not even a hello?”

Villanelle’s chest heaves against her own. From this close Eve can feel the warmth of Villanelle’s breath against her mouth. She briefly registers the heat of her skin, briefly registers how the hazel of her eyes look liquid gold in the mid-afternoon light. For a moment, Eve feels devastatingly calm.

Villanelle is waiting for a response, Eve can tell. But Eve just stares, watching as Villanelle’s expression softens, and then drops into a confused frown. Villanelle tracks the entirety of her face, her eyes, her mouth, lips parted, brow furrowed, like she’s trying to commit it to memory. It makes Eve ache. 

Villanelle’s eyes flicker down to her lips, and then back up to her eyes. Eve watches her throat bob as she swallows. Her chest heaves. Her lungs burn. Villanelle is both too close and not close enough. And Eve swears to God if she looks at her like that for one second longer, she swears to God she’s going to – she’s –

Eve manages one final shove, right at Villanelle’s collarbone, watching from up close as her face falls, before Konstantin catches her, his heavy, bear-like hands holding her back. 

And just like that the spell is broken.

“You – arsehole,” Eve manages finally, thrashing forward again. Konstantin restrains her easily.

Villanelle tilts her head to the side, watching Eve intently from their newfound distance. Her lips curl into a small smile, barely there but taunting, and finally the adrenaline is replaced with a delicious hot red anger. Eve pictures herself grabbing Villanelle by the collar of her - her stupid grey, three-piece suit. She pictures herself punching and hitting and spitting and grabbing and – 

“You fucking – arsehole!” Eve tries to lunge forward again, but Konstantin is well-prepared this time. 

“That’s enough, both of you,” Konstantin grunts. “Villanelle, go to the kitchen, sit down.”

A heavy moment passes, and then Villanelle puts her hands up in surrender and backs up into her seat at the kitchen table. Eve shuts her eyes and counts to ten, struggling to regain her breath.

“Can I let go now?” Konstantin asks, shaking her lightly. 

Eve nods, and Konstantin loosens his grip. She shrugs out of his hold immediately, fixing him with a pointed scowl.

Carolyn’s face is predictably blank when Eve re-enters the room.

“Right, now that the pleasantries are over… I would appreciate if the two of you would try to exercise some self control. I had the carpets professionally cleaned last Thursday and I’m sure neither of you need a lesson on how terribly fickle blood stains are.”

“You should try lemon juice,” Villanelle says quietly. She’s sat at the table, slouched in her seat, arms crossed, picking at her food. She turns to Carolyn. “For the blood stains? Very effective.” 

“Oh?” Carolyn hums thoughtfully. “I haven’t tried that one yet. Thank you, Villanelle.”

“No problem.”

“I’m sorry,” Eve interrupts, “but what exactly is going on here?”

“We want you to join us, Eve,” Carolyn says. “We want you to join us in toppling The Twelve.”

“Are you kidding me?” Eve fixes Villanelle with a furious stare. “You _shot_ me,” she spits. She turns to the room. “You know she shot me, right?”

Konstantin nods. Carolyn nods.

“Villanelle has filled us in on the details, yes,” Carolyn says. 

“ _Villanelle_ has filled you in?! The person that almost _killed_ me-” 

“It was a _tiny_ gun, Eve, and I aimed for your shoulder-“

“You _aimed_ for my fucking spine. I could have been _paralysed_. I could have _died_.”

Villanelle opens her mouth and then shuts it. Good, Eve thinks. Fucking good. 

“One can die crossing the road if they don’t pay enough attention,” Carolyn offers up diplomatically. “There’s really no time to get bogged down in the semantics of it all right now.”

“Wha-” Eve squints. “Are any of you hearing yourself right now?” 

Konstantin shrugs. “Sure. You stab her, she shoots you. ”

“You know what? No, absolutely not.” Eve shakes her head, standing up to leave. “I’m not doing this again. There’s no way in hell-”

“Eve, there’s really no other way out of this,” Carolyn says. 

“ _Yes_ there is. I’ve managed so far, haven’t I?”

The silence that descends on the room would be comical if it weren’t for the levity of the situation. Konstantin clears his throat. Carolyn lets out a deep sigh. She feels Villanelle’s eyes on her. And when she looks up to meet them, she doesn’t expect to see the small frown on her face. 

Eve’s eyes dart between the three of them, teeth gritted. “What? What are you not telling me?”

Caroln sets her cutlery down. “The Twelve has been following you since Rome, Eve,” she says finally. “They’ve put several hits out on you so far, and they don’t show any sign of stopping.”

“What - what do you mean they’ve put hits out on me? No they haven’t, they-”

“Have,” Villanelle finishes, and Eve can’t help but meet her eyes immediately. “Many times. You make it very difficult for me to keep you safe. Most of the time you do not even lock your door.”

Eve shakes her head. “No-”

“Yes,” Villanelle says lowly.

And maybe it’s the soft lilt to Villanelle’s voice, far too gentle, far too human, even from across the room, that makes Eve far too acutely aware of her own body, acutely aware of the fact she needs to leave, right now. 

“We leave for Cuba in the morning,” Carolyn continues. “We have a fake passport ready, should you want it, and a handsome pay check. Our flights are leaving from London Gatwick at 7:15. The decision is yours, Eve, but may I remind you that when we leave, you will no longer be under our protection.”

_Our protection._

“I -” Eve winces at the sound her chair makes as it scrapes across the hardwood floor. “I need a cigarette,” she sighs.

/

Eve fumbles through her handbag for her cigarettes. She opens the packet to find it empty, and really, that’s all it takes.

She slams her fist into the brick wall and screams, and then watches as her own thick, red blood trickles and spills over her knuckles. She flexes her fingers and winces in pain, collapsing against the wall, chest heaving. 

She doesn’t know how long she’s stood like that before she hears the door click open to the right of her.

“You should know… she is different now.”

Eve looks up. It’s Konstantin. 

“Ever since Rome, ever since Russia,” he continues. “She is different.”

“What happened in Russia?” Eve asks before she can help herself.

He turns to her, face serious. “She found her family.”

“I didn’t know her family were alive.”

“Neither did she.” 

He looks up to the sky. The clouds threaten to spill. 

“Pack your bags, Eve,” he says finally, turning his back to re-enter the house. “It is time to finish this once and for all.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the finale was A Lot. pls share your thoughts


	3. biscuit?

Carolyn doesn’t seem the slightest bit surprised when Eve shows up at London Gatwick the next morning.

“You’ve left your passport, phone and wallet at home?” Carolyn asks.

Eve nods, finding herself thankful that Carolyn has never been one for small talk. She’s not a morning person, and McDonalds had been the only place serving coffee at 4am. Exhaustion sits heavy behind her eyelids, clouding her thoughts just enough that her decision to be here, to do this, feels a little less ridiculous.

“And there’s nothing left on your person that could possibly be used to identify you?”

“No,” Eve answers, holding back a frown. It had been one thing following Carolyn’s orders, but it’s another to hear them out loud.

“Good.” Carolyn nods once, satisfied. She passes Eve a small, leather handbag, and then swats Eve away when she reaches for the zipper. “For goodness sake Eve, don’t open it yet. And do try to smile. We’re on CCTV. Now, the bag contains a new passport and the first instalment of your pay check. Should security pull you up for any reason, your name is Grace Park, you moved from Glasgow to London when you were 8, you work as a recruitment consultant for Grant Publishing and you are visiting Havana on vacation. Understood?”

Eve goes over it. “Grace Park, Glasgow then London, recruitment consultant. Got it.”

“Good. As we’ve discussed, your primary focus during this mission will be intelligence gathering and research. After the Aaron Peel fiasco I’m sure you don’t need to be told that knowledge is power.” Carolyn pauses, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Though it certainly helps to have a compliant psychopath onboard.”

Eve feels a flash of irritation. It is defensiveness, maybe? Or a sense of possession? Whatever it is, it’s irrational and inconvenient and Eve pushes it aside quickly. “Right.”

“Do you have any questions?” Carolyn asks, leading them to the check-in desk. Eve falls into step.

“I don’t think so?” At this point she doubts it would matter if she did.

“Good. And Eve?”

“Yes?”

Carolyn reaches into her handbag and produces a plastic zip lock bag. “Biscuit?”

Eve blinks. “Oh. Uh, no thanks.”

“I’d never have taken you for the type to turn down a chocolate Hobnob,” Carolyn says, and Eve doesn’t know why or how, but somehow it feels like a dig.

/

Konstantin and Villanelle arrive at the boarding gate ten minutes before the gates due to close.

They are talking animatedly, Villanelle walking with an almost swagger, hands in her pockets, while Konstantin gestures wildly, frustrated.

“It is true,” she hears Villanelle sing-song as they approach. “Here, I will show you.”

“Stop that,” Konstantin replies, swatting her away. “I mean it, Villanelle. You must be on your best behaviour, okay? You lose focus too easily. You are a child.”

“And you are so grumpy today, Konstantin. You are no fun when you are grumpy.”

Konstantin lets out a long sigh as he turns to greet Eve and Carolyn, but there’s a fondness in his eyes, a familiarity in the way they interact that throws Eve off for a moment. It feels something like the raw tug of jealousy, but not quite.

“I am glad you are here,” Villanelle says quietly as she passes.

Eve nods, ignoring the heavy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

/

Villanelle sits one row in front of Eve on the opposite aisle, close enough to touch.

Eve watches her intently from her own aisle seat, drowning out the overly chipper air hostess as she goes through the safety instructions. Niko used to berate her for glazing over them, and then invariably make some sort of joking quip about how she welcomed danger with open arms.

She thinks of him then, of the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks the last time she’d visited him in rehab, of the way he’d said her name so tiredly when he asked her to leave. It’s a thought she’s keen to push away, so she does.

She turns her attention to Villanelle, watching as she tips her head back, eyes shut, foot tapping. For a moment Eve wonders if she’s a bad flier. But after a few long, stretching minutes, the plane rattles into take off and Villanelle’s breathing evens out, and Eve realises she’s fallen asleep.

The idea of it disarms her for a moment. The idea that a ruthless contract killer could drop her guard so easily, leave herself so open and vulnerable. But then, she’s seen Villanelle in action, she’s witnessed those lightning fast reflexes. As human as she looks in this moment, as peaceful as she looks – she is so far from ordinary, Eve reminds herself, so far from defenceless. 

Still, Eve appreciates the opportunity to watch without being watched.

She spends the first hour of the flight going over the last 24 hours in her head. She had been Villanelle’s condition. What did that even mean? Why had Carolyn and Konstantin conceded to Villanelle’s wishes, after everything that had happened in Rome? And what did Villanelle mean when she said Eve made it hard for her to protect her? Had Villanelle been there all this time, in those lonely, dragging, empty months since Rome? Had she watched from a distance as Eve drank herself stupid? Had she watched as Eve fucked herself in the very bath Villanelle had pinned her down to a lifetime ago? She has a hundred questions, and she’s not ready for the answer to a single one.

Eve feels her own tiredness creep in, and she watches the back of Villanelle’s head until she can’t fight off her own uneasy sleep any longer.

She shuts her eyes for one moment.

That’s all it takes. Next thing she knows, Villanelle is out of her seat and straddling her seat in one, fluid movement.

Villanelle leans in close, pressing their foreheads heads together, and the world goes very, very still.

Eve looks around. The seats beside her are empty.

“Where is everyone?” she asks, panicked.

Villanelle just smiles. “You killed them,” she says easily. “Don’t you remember?”

Eve nods. It sounds familiar. “Oh right. Yeah.”

“There was so much _blood_ ,” Villanelle continues, and her eyes sparkle, frantic, just like they had when Eve swung the axe into Raymond’s shoulder. “Here, you still have a bit on your cheek.” Villanelle reaches over and very gently wipes it away, before putting her finger in her mouth and sucking.

And, oh. A deep, hot want travels through Eve's spine and up the inside of her thighs and lands heavy between her legs. And before she has time to think, Eve is kissing her. 

It’s all teeth and tongue and the long drag of a moan that she has no idea who made. It’s dissipating tension and an ever-rising crescendo and an aching thrum that builds and builds until Eve is gasping against her. And then she's gone. 

When she pulls back, they are under the sweltering sun in Rome, and Villanelle’s eyes are bright and alive. She’s a few paces away from Eve, bouncing as she walks.

“We don’t have to have spaghetti,” Villanelle says. “I read that they have excellent salmon in Alaska. Very fresh. We could have salmon instead?”

Eve nods absentmindedly, taking in the endless expanse of the ruins. “Salmon sounds good.”

Villanelle smiles a brilliant smile, one that lands right in Eve’s chest, and then deeper somehow, always deeper. She bounds forward and takes Eve’s hand, and it feels like they’re floating.

And then she turns to face her, and -

“Your dinner, madam,” she says.

“What?”

“Your dinner.”

Eve’s eyes snap open at the same time she shoots upright, clutching at her chest, gasping for air.

A young air hostess stands above her, concerned. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes dart to Villanelle’s seat to find her asleep, headphones in.

Around her, the seats are no longer empty, but instead occupied by people who watch her with a frown.

She blinks. “Oh - uh, yes. Sorry. Bad dream.”

The air hostess nods, and then hands her a container. “Today we are serving shredded lamb with rice. Would you like any refreshments?”

She takes a deep breath. “Tequila. Please.”

The next time she sleeps, she doesn’t dream, and when she wakes up to the erratic jolts of turbulence, she finds that Villanelle is watching her.

And they stare and they stare and they stare.


	4. did you know i am legally dead in spain?

As soon as they step off the plane in Havana the air is thick and hot and damp. It sticks to Eve’s skin, makes her clothes cling to her uncomfortably. The wet heat reminds her of family trips to South Korea growing up, the slow drag of Seoul’s monsoon season, the ill-fitting dresses her _oe-halmeoni_ would force her into.

They make their way through airport security, groggy and jetlagged, and it is only when they are stood just left of the airport’s main exit, Eve’s eyes darting to the various signs, that Villanelle clicks into action, leading them all outside and ordering a taxi in perfect Spanish. 

Havana’s old town is like something out of a film, all dusty pinks and faded blues and deep oranges that blur under the streetlights. Carolyn spends the taxi journey reminiscing about an old Russian contact, and then an old Cuban contact, and Jesus, Eve gets it, Carolyn had a lot of fun in the eighties. Konstantin laughs along, deep and wide, and it makes Eve want to roll her eyes, so she does. Villanelle sits in the front seat, occasionally sharing words with the taxi driver that Eve can’t understand.

The taxi drops them off at an unassuming place just outside the old town. It’s pink, with arching windows and white-framed balconies and peeling paint. It feels like a different world, here in the cobbled streets of Havana. It’s the kind of place Eve would have only dreamed of visiting.

/

The hostel room is simple, just large a double bed, a small TV that looks so old it might as well be coin-operated, a side table and a lamp. But it has a view – a view that isn’t thick London smog and noisy double decker busses and rowdy teenagers back from a night out.

She wants to appreciate it, and she does, but she also feels awful. Nausea curls in the pit of her stomach, and she knows it’s just exhaustion, she knows it’s just the absence of adrenaline, the quiet reality that this is really happening, that they're in Cuba about to take on Europe's most dangerous international crime organisation. It beats the paperwork at MI6, she supposes. 

She stares at herself under the harsh fluorescence of the bathroom lights. She needs – God, she needs so many things, but a shower to begin with.

The water won’t heat up past tepid, but she welcomes it, rubbing the slick, cold sweat off her stomach, her back, her armpits. She takes her time lathering the soap in her hair, rinsing it carefully, combing through the conditioner with her fingers. She lets herself relax into the gentle white noise of the water, focusing on the numbness of her bullet wound as the water sprays against it.

By the time she finishes her shower, she feels lighter and fresher and softer, and she's ready to sleep for as long as Carolyn lets her.

She switches off the light, opens the bathroom door and then jumps when she finds Villanelle sat at the edge of her bed.

“Oh, Jesus. Have you ever heard of knocking?” Eve grumbles, her hands coming to pull at her robe. “You know what? Don’t answer that. Just turn around, I need to get changed.”

“I did knock,” Villanelle protests, and then to Eve’s surprise she turns and averts her eyes. “You didn’t answer,” she says, quieter.

“Oh, so you came in anyway?” Eve shrugs out of her robe and into her pyjamas as quickly as she can manage. She doesn’t look to check if Villanelle sneaks a glance. She doesn’t want to know. “That’s not how knocking works.”

“I can go back outside and knock again if you’d like?”

Eve fixes her a tired look. “What do you want?” she says as she slumps into bed, and it’s supposed to come out harsh but instead it’s just a sigh.

“Do you know this is my first time outside of Europe?” Villanelle says, running her hands over the bedsheets distractedly. She turns to Eve. “I know, right? The Twelve would only ever give me passports with travel restrictions. I don’t know how they did it. Very sneaky.”

The sudden swell of anger Eve feels is instinctive, unavoidable. She thinks back to a time before she’d met Villanelle, when she’d been fixated on the fact that these women, these young, vulnerable women, were being taken and prayed on by the Twelve, manipulated and crafted into perfect weapons. She knows now that the truth is not so simple, knows that Villanelle is so much more than that – vulnerable sometimes, maybe, but also capable of terrible, terrible things. But it doesn’t mean it sits right with her.

Villanelle sighs, eyes distant. “Where I come from in Russia, it is technically the Asian side of the continent, only just about. But that did not matter to my mother. She would always say, we are not European, we are not Asian, we are Russian. We are strong Russian women.”

Eve watches as Villanelle’s jaw tenses, as her lips tremor just slightly, and she yearns to know what’s happened to make Villanelle – still Villanelle, definitely, but something else now too.

“What happened in Russia, Oksana?” she asks tentatively.

She watches as Villanelle’s fingers drum against the bedsheets, watches her throat bob as she swallows, head tilted back ever so slightly. It takes a second before she realises she's not going to get a reply. 

Eve decides not to push it. Instead she settles into bed, fixing her eyes on the peeling wallpaper on the ceiling. After a long, stretching moment, she feels the bed dip as Villanelle settles beside her.

When she turns over onto her side, she finds Villanelle is already watching her. And, oh God. It feels like her body’s betraying her, the way she feels her herself relax so easily. 

It’s just - she’s so tired. She’ll be angry with Villanelle tomorrow, she tells herself. She’ll hate her tomorrow.

For now, she scans every inch of her face. Villanelle wears an oversized orange pyjama top that hangs off her, three sizes too big, and thin grey shorts, and it should look ridiculous but doesn’t. Her hair frames her face in a loose bun, and she is so soft under the warm glow of the lamp.

It feels like days and weeks and years have passed before Villanelle asks, “Can we watch a movie?” 

“Sure,” Eve finds herself saying. She reaches for the remote and switches the telly on, flicking through the menu.

All the channels are in Spanish, of course they are. They’re in Cuba, after all. On the run, or on the hunt, to topple the Twelve or to change its leadership or something. Really, the details are escaping her right now. She settles on an overly dramatized soap opera.

“This is _Mirada de Mujer,_ ” Villanelle tells her quietly, eyes fixed to the screen.

“Oh?”

Villanelle nods. “It is very popular in Spain. My ex-wife was a big fan.” Eve’s eyes shoots towards her. Villanelle just hums. “Don’t be jealous, Eve. I thought about you always. Especially when we-“

“Um, so what’s the show about?” Eve interrupts loudly, because they are so not doing this, not right now.

“Did you know I am legally dead in Spain?” she continues, and then waves her hand dismissively at Eve’s questioning frown. “It is a long story.”

Eve turns her attention to the TV. She can’t understand a word, but it’s nice, mind-numbing, and then after a while Villanelle begins to translate each sentence to her quietly.

For the first time since Rome, she feels herself settle. And maybe that’s what makes her ask, “Why are you doing this, Villanelle? Why are you here?"

Villanelle looks at her, really looks at her, and then blows the air out of from her cheeks, eyes wide. “I came for the free holiday?”

“Villanelle,” she says seriously.

She sobers. “I just – want more now. I want to feel normal. Safe. Carefree.”

“Why did you never get back in touch, after Rome?” 

Villanelle blinks. “You didn’t want me to.”

Eve swallows thickly. She looks away. “Yeah, well, I didn’t not want you to either.”

Villanelle opens her mouth to speak, but Eve shakes her head no. Because she's not ready. Not ready to know what it meant that Villanelle had been protecting her from the Twelve under Carolyn and Konstantin's orders, not ready to know how close Villanelle had really been all this time. She's not ready for any of it. 

Villanelle looks at her for a long, aching moment.

Eve looks back up at the ceiling. “I’m just so tired, all the time. I can’t keep still, I –” she sighs.

"Yeah."

“It’s been a long few months.”

“For me too,” Villanelle says quietly, and Eve has to look away. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s too human, it’s – 

“Eve?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you stroke my hair?”

Eve looks at her. "Seriously?"

Villanelle just nods. 

And maybe it’s because she’s half asleep anyway, or maybe it’s because Villanelle looks so soft under the warm glow of the bedside lamp, or maybe because she wants, she wants, she wants, that Eve gestures to her lap, covered thankfully by the thin hostel sheets, and watches as Villanelle gets up, slowly, carefully, like Eve might turn around at any moment and tell her to fuck off, which Eve feels like she might, and rests her head in Eve’s lap, head turned to face the TV. 

Eve could strangle her, maybe? She could hit her over the head with that stupid bedside lamp. She could suffocate her with a pillow. She thinks Villanelle would let her.

Instead, her hands sink into her hair.

Tomorrow. She’ll be angry tomorrow. She’ll hate her tomorrow. But right now?

Villanelle’s hair is soft, impossibly soft between Eve’s fingers. She concentrates on combing through the small knots she finds every so often, working carefully to smooth them out without pulling too hard. She can hear her heartbeat in her ears.

“This is nice,” Villanelle says softly.

“Yeah,” Eve breathes out.

“You are very good at that. Very gentle, very soft,” Villanelle sighs, and Eve feels it land deep it in the pit of her stomach.

The TV drones on in the background. The sun is starting to rise. None of it matters. 

Eve falls asleep as the birds sing their morning chorus, and when she wakes up Villanelle is gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts pls!


	5. i will kill your head first

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> enter irina and the most chaotic multi-character dialogue i've ever written

Carolyn doesn’t look up when Eve takes a seat at the breakfast table. Instead she gestures vaguely to the food in front of them. “Go on, eat up. I hate talking business on an empty stomach.”

Eve eyes up the platter of fresh fruit, the toast, the croissants, the coffee. Her stomach growls immediately, and she coughs in a half-hearted attempt to cover the sound.

“Eleven down, eight letters, a juxtaposition of contradictory terms,” Carolyn reads out loud, and then immediately fills in the blanks with a scowl.

Eve looks over at her newspaper. “They sell _The Guardian_ in Cuba?”

Carolyn looks up at her over the rim of her reading glasses. “Of course not, Eve, I brought it with me. The weekend crossword is one of the very few constants in my life, though heaven knows the quality has taken a hit since Mark Graham stood down as lead puzzle-maker in 2013. Tragic, really.” 

Eve stares blankly for a moment, and then sighs into her coffee. Jesus, it’s good. She makes her way through breakfast, and then waits for Carolyn’s orders. Either Carolyn doesn’t notice or she’s ignoring her on purpose.

“So – the plan?” Eve prompts.

Carolyn snaps the newspaper shut. “Ah, yes. I have spoken to an old contact, and we should have the surveillance software up and running by this afternoon. We’re working on getting a meeting set up between Villanelle and Isabel Hernandez by the end of the week latest. From what we know, Ms Hernandez heads the faction that has an interest in challenging the Twelve’s central leadership. We want Villanelle to convince her this is viable, assassin to assassin. In the meantime, I want you to find out everything you can about Jose Garcia, he -,” Carolyn pauses, eyes fixed behind Eve, “Oh dear.”

“He – what?”

Eve turns around to find Konstantin making a beeline towards them, face strained like he’s on the brink of a heart attack. Villanelle and – is that Irina? – follow close behind.

“But - you told me it would just be us!” Irina complains. 

“And you believed him?” Villanelle lets out a sharp laugh. “Hah! That is so stupid. He is so full of shit.” She drops into the chair next to Eve, hooking one leg over the armrest, and tears into a croissant.

Eve refuses to meet her eye. It’s – well, it’s inconvenient that she is hyperaware of Villanelle’s every movement even after all this time. Inconvenient _and_ embarrassing that Villanelle tries to get her attention by jabbing her playfully with her foot. She feels herself flush. Thankfully no one seems to notice.

“Carolyn, Eve, good morning,” Konstantin says. 

Carolyn raises an eyebrow. “Is it?”

Konstantin opens his mouth and then shuts it promptly.

“No, no, this is too funny,” Villanelle continues, pointing her croissant at Irina. “You thought he was taking you here on a little family holiday, just the two of you?”

Irina balls her fists, face red. “Oh my god, shut up!”

“Villanelle,” Konstantin warns.

Villanelle chews on her croissant, face plastered in a grin. “You are a very shit father, hm, Konstantin?”

“Villanelle!” He shouts, slamming his hand down on the table. The elderly couple sat two tables across throw him a dirty look. He puts his hands up in apology, and then turns to her. “See that? You make me look like a crazy person.”

“You are a crazy person.”

“One across, nine letters, easy to control or influence,” Carolyn reads, unperturbed, and then scribbles in the answer. “For goodness’ sake, they’re not even trying anymore.”

“It is just not the same since Mark Graham left, hm?” Konstantin says.

“Mockery is not the product of a strong mind, Konstantin.”

That seems to cheer him up. “Of course.” He turns to Irina, who is picking at her food with a scowl. “Irina, do you remember Eve?” 

Eve wipes the crumbs from her mouth and offers her a wave. Irina stares back, blank-faced. Whatever, Eve thinks, she’s never been good with children.

“We met, in Russia,” she begins tentatively, and then stops because she doesn’t know how to end that sentence in any way other than _that time Villanelle kidnapped you and then shot your dad in the chest._

Irina is about to respond when Villanelle reaches over and snatches the croissant on her plate.

“Hey, that is mine!”

Villanelle wiggles her eyebrows. “It is mine now. Unless you want to fight me for it? You will not win. I will kill your tiny head with my bare hands. It will be so easy.”

“Oh my _god_!” Irina screams. “ _Zakrói rot_. _Ya nenavizhu tebya._ I will kill your head _first!_ ”

“You are so ugly when you speak Russian.”

“Shut up both of you,” Konstantin grunts.

“Actually, will everyone just shut up?” Eve says abruptly, and then sinks back into her chair when everyone’s eyes snap towards her. She ignores Villanelle’s grin. “Um, I mean, can we maybe concentrate on the task at hand?”

Carolyn looks sympathetic, at least. “There’s little on the agenda today, Eve, other than working off your jetlag. As I said, I would like you to look into Jose Garcia – his whereabouts, his marital status, that sort of thing. But today you are free to do as you please, and tomorrow too I should think.” She smiles at the hostel waiter as he approaches their table. “ _Un café con leche, por favor_.”

“ _Ustedes necesitan algo mas_?” he asks, flipping out his notepad and turning to the table.

Eve watches as everyone gives their orders in perfect Spanish, and then freezes when the waiter turns to her expectantly.

“Una… coffee?” she tries.

“ _Ella te gustaría un café con leche también, por favor,_ ” Villanelle tells him for her, smiling sweetly.

“I could have done that myself, thanks,” Eve mumbles.

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

“Of course.” 

Konstantin lets out a bellowing laugh. “Eve, you do not speak Spanish? Everyone speaks Spanish.”

“Everyone does _not_ speak Spanish,” Eve grumbles.

“They do in Cuba, Eve,” Carolyn says, concerned. “You really ought to learn.” She straightens up, tucking her newspaper under her arm. “Right, I do believe that’s everything. Konstantin and I have some business to attend to. You’re all free to go.”

“Irina, you stay with Villanelle until I am back,” Konstantin says.

It’s almost comical, the way Irina’s mouth falls open. “The last time I was alone with her I watched a woman shoot herself in the head!”

Villanelle rolls her eyes. “When are you going to let that go?”

“I was 12!” 

“Ah, character building?” she tries. 

Konstantin lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Villanelle, behave. Do not make her steal. Do not give her alcohol. Do not let her shoot anyone, or watch anyone be shot. Do you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” she says, and then turns to Eve. “So boring, right?” she stage-whispers, as if shooting Eve had been nothing more than a fun role play. 

Eve throws her a scowl, and wonders briefly how the quiet, anxious woman in her bed last night is somehow the same person as this obnoxious arsehole. 

/

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Villanelle asks, nudging Eve with her foot from under the table. She’s really got to stop doing that.

“Because I’m angry.”

“You don’t look angry.”

Eve swallows, then looks away. “Yeah, well. I am.”

They are sat in a café, because somehow Villanelle managed to convince Eve to come along with her and Irina. Look, it’s not like she’s got much else to do. And besides, she’s still got the rest of the day to herself. 

An awkward silence descends on the table. Irina watches them both suspiciously.

“She is old, like Anna,” Irina says finally. “Do you have a thing for older women?” 

“ _Do you have a thing for older women,_ ” Villanelle mimics, voice high, face scrunched. “What a stupid question. I have a thing for beautiful women.”

“Beautiful women who are old.”

“Uh, hey, excuse me?” Eve waves her hands to get their attention. “I’m right here.”

Irina turns to her. “My dad says you have an unhealthy obsession with female psychopaths.”

“That’s - um.” 

“And he says-”

“Have you seen her passport picture?” Villanelle interrupts, turning to Eve. “It is really ugly. She looks like a cornflake with some hair stuck to it.”

“Will you _stop_ bringing that up? _Nobody_ has a good passport photo.”

“I do.” And then, after a pause, “Eve does.”

Irina rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

“You don’t enjoy my company? Fine.” Villanelle reaches into her pocket and then throws three pesos across the table. “You are free to do as you please. Go buy yourself an ice-cream or something. Just make sure you come back in an hour.” 

“You are going to leave me alone in a foreign country?” Irina asks flatly. “Really? This place is full of perverts.”

Villanelle just sighs, weary and over-dramatic. “First you tell me not to kidnap you, then you tell me not to let you go. You are so inconsistent.”

“Look, we’ll be here, we’re not going anywhere,” Eve finds herself saying, ignoring the way Villanelle eyes her curiously. 

Irina looks at her for a long second, and then puts her hand out expectantly.

“Oh, come on. Seriously?” Eve says incredulously. 

Irina shrugs, and then Eve reaches into her purse and hands her another three pesos.

“I will be back in an hour,” Irina says, satisfied. “If you are not here when I am back I’m turning you both in to the police,” she says, and then stalks out the shop.

Villanelle’s eyes widen comically. “Eve! _”_ she says, delighted. “That was so _naughty_.”

Eve bites back a smile. “Whatever.” And then, “Oh shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i had so much fun writing this. as always, your feedback is welcome and appreciated and LOVED. & just a quick heads up – i've upped the chapter number from 8 to 10. i don't want to overwhelm myself (i'm v easily overwhelmed) but i'm also super committed to finishing this.


	6. contract killing is a surprisingly toxic field

Somehow lunch with Villanelle and Irina has turned into lunch with just Villanelle, and somehow lunch with just Villanelle has turned into –

“Listen to her, Eve. What do you hear?”

– a Spanish lesson, apparently?

Eve turns her attention to the barista as she serves the next customer, and then repeats the words clumsily. Villanelle shakes her head, lips pressed together. It makes Eve want to reach over and curl each of her fingers against the taut skin of her neck. It makes her want to _squeeze_ until Villanelle is gasping against her, each breath a hiccup under her fingertips.

If Villanelle picks up on Eve’s mood, she ignores it. “Say what you hear, not what you think you hear. They are two very different things. For example…” She taps her chin, thoughtful. “Look, the ‘o’ sound in _hola_ – it is like the ‘o’ sound in ‘orange’. Not _oh-la_ but _o-la_. Do you see?”

“I guess,” Eve grumbles, and then repeats after her.

Villanelle sits back, satisfied. “Good. That is a good. Otherwise you will give yourself away too easily, before you’ve even asked for a coffee.”

“You’re giving me a headache,” Eve says.

“You are giving _me_ a headache,” Villanelle counters, indignant. “You are making me explain a foreign language in another foreign language,” she pauses, “ _and_ I have showed you using two different English accents. It is not easy. You are lucky I am so clever.”

Eve snorts before she can help it, and then sits back as the waitress serves them their coffees. Villanelle orders them something Eve can’t understand from off the menu.

“You know I’m not going to learn if you keep ordering for me.”

Villanelle blinks, innocent. “You don’t believe in learning by example?” Eve rolls her eyes but Villanelle has already moved on, surprisingly focussed when she puts her mind to it, apparently.

“You speak Korean, yes?” she asks, and Eve nods. “How do you feel when you speak Korean?”

Eve narrows her eyes, wondering for a moment if Villanelle is really asking or if this is some sort of trick. But Villanelle just waits expectantly, chin resting on her knuckles, and Eve thinks _oh what the fuck, why not._

“I feel, uh, clumsy?” she starts. “I don’t know. Like, I’m six years old again no one’s taking me seriously and…” She breathes out a deep sigh. “I don’t really… feel myself? I don’t know. How do you feel when you speak Russian?”

“I don’t _speak_ Russian-”

Eve shakes her head, because she knows that, but that’s not what she means. “But when you do, when you were in prison in Moscow, when you were a child.”

Villanelle doesn’t reply and Eve knows she’s hit a chord. She watches as Villanelle’s jaw clenches and unclenches, watches as she blinks once, twice, three times, and then takes a deep breath in.

The next time she speaks, it’s a long-winded explanation of ten key Spanish verb conjugations, and it’s a poor attempt at changing the subject but for some reason Eve pretends to follow along.

/

The surveillance equipment is already set up in Eve’s room by the time she gets back to the hostel that afternoon, and she gets started on research into Jose Garcia right away.

After two empty, monotonous months working back of house at her aunt’s restaurant, it makes her feel alive to be doing something so useful again. She forfeits working off her jetlag and pulls an all-nighter, combing through any and all information that comes her way.

It only another takes 24 hours for Isabel Hernandez to respond to their meeting request, and Carolyn instructs Eve to turn her focus to Isabel instead.

“I hate to add to your workload so soon, Eve,” Carolyn tells her that evening, “but we could really do with sending Villanelle in knowing more about her than she does us.”

According to Carolyn, Isabel heads the faction that is interested in seizing power from the Twelve’s central committee. The problem, she says, is that they’re not quite sure if Isabel’s interests align with theirs enough to warrant support for a coup. So Eve pulls a second all-nighter, sleeps fitfully through the day, and Jesus, the lack of sleep is really catching up on her.

Information on Isabel is hard to come by, but a string of three unexplained murders connected to her adversaries tell Eve that she is willing to kill, or order a kill at the very least, if the opportunity requires it. She’s – not a psychopath, Eve concludes. She’s too… emotionally driven. A sociopath, maybe? Some sort of personality disorder that has led her to use violence where she deems necessary, but still remain totally focussed.

She has the kind of patience, the kind of calculating that Villanelle has never possessed. Villanelle has always been – impulsive, steadfast in getting what she wants. Even if something has shifted in Villanelle since Russia she’s still – well, very much Villanelle.

Eve sits at her new desk, legs pulled up against her chest, and goes through Isabel Hernandez’s file for what feels like the hundredth time today when she hears an exaggerated knock at the door.

She flicks the tab back to Jose Garcia. “Door’s open, come in,” she calls.

She turns to find Villanelle standing in the doorway, wearing a flowing black jumpsuit with a lowcut neckline that reveals – God, far too much. She clears her throat, just for something to do.

“Eve, you should really keep your door locked,” Villanelle tells her. “We are on the run from some very dangerous people.”

There are too many layers to that for Eve to even dignify it with a proper response, so, “have you read the file I sent you?” she asks instead.

Villanelle rolls her eyes. “Yes. It was very boring. Have you ever considered colour coding your notes?”

“I’ll bear that in mind next time, thanks,” she replies flatly, and then turns back to the computer, bringing up Isabel’s case file. “So, what do you think?”

“I think… she is very beautiful,” Villanelle says, ignoring the look Eve throws her. “Do you think she will try to seduce me? It would not be surprising. Contract killing is a surprisingly toxic field, the professional boundaries are very unclear.”

Eve stares at her blankly for a moment. She may be exhausted, but two days of research – two days alone, away from Villanelle – have sharpened her mind somewhat. Or at least that’s what she tells herself. It helps.

Villanelle seems to get the message. “Okay, fine,” she says finally. “I think she is powerful. In the way that all wealthy people who know what it is like to have nothing are. I think she will play it casual, pretend to be disinterested. They always do. But… I think will be interested in a deal. I think we are her only option.”

“So you read the file?” Eve tries not to sound too impressed. Honestly, she should really expect more than the bare minimum. It’s their _lives_ , their _freedom_ on the line after all.

Villanelle shrugs. “I guess.”

Eve nods once. “Good.”

She glances over to find Villanelle watching her intently. Eve clears her throat, awkward under her gaze. She feels every second of the silence that falls over them. And then, God, whatever, she lets herself stare back for an indulgent moment.

Villanelle’s hair is up in an artful braid, and not for the first time Eve wonders how anyone is able to think up a hairstyle that isn’t just _up_ or _down_. She almost reaches for her hair self-consciously, but she clenches her hands still just in time. She lets her eyes drift down to Villanelle’s neck, to her shoulders, and then further to the gentle swell of her breasts. Villanelle lets herself be watched.

When Eve meets Villanelle’s eyes, Villanelle’s lips are quirked into a very small smile. Eve ignores her, breathing out a sigh. She turns back to her computer and pulls up Jose Garcia’s file. It takes a second for the tension dissipate.

But then a moment later, she can feel Villanelle hovering behind her, and Villanelle lasts all of five seconds before she opens her mouth again.

“So,” Villanelle begins, gesturing to her outfit expectantly. “How do I look?”

“You look fine,” Eve throws over her shoulder.

Villanelle deflates instantly. “You are no fun.”

“Yeah, well, I’m working and you’re distracting me.”

That gets her attention. “I distract you?”

“You don’t _distract_ me. You’re _distracting_ me,” Eve corrects.

“There is a difference?”

“Yeah. A big difference.”

Villanelle nods over to Jose Garcia’s file. “Are you angry because I get to dress up and have dinner with a beautiful woman, while you are stuck here staring that ugly man right in his big ugly face?”

Eve snaps her laptop shut. “Will you stop being such a pain in the ass?”

“Eve, if you keep frowning like that you are going to get terrible wrinkles.”

Eve nearly says something very stupid, like _I thought you liked older women,_ but thankfully she manages to resist. Irritation – and something else she can’t put a name to, won’t put a name to - sits heavy in her chest. It’s just – it feels too much like déjà vu, too much like Rome. There’s too much depending on Villanelle not fucking up, too much depending on Villanelle _following the script_ , which Jesus knows she doesn’t do at the best of times. She needs Villanelle to take this seriously, and she has no way of knowing if she will.

She is all too familiar with having absolutely no control, and it doesn’t matter how much expensive surveillance equipment Carolyn has given her – she can’t help but feel she’s completely powerless. And perhaps it’s the familiarity of it, the fact that she’s constantly teetering on a knife’s edge with Villanelle, with her life, with _all of this_ , that makes her snap.

“Look, this meeting with Isabel has to go to plan. You understand that, right? This isn’t a joke. This isn’t a game. Kenny died, okay? He died, and I know that isn’t anything new in your line of work, but he was my _friend_. Does that mean anything to you?”

The air between them feels very, very heavy. 

“Eve – Why are you being like this?”

“Why am I – why am I being like this?” Eve throws her hands up into the air. “I don’t know. Maybe because you ruined my life? Maybe because you shot me and left me to die? Maybe because I don’t know what the fuck I’m even doing here?”

Villanelle watches her carefully for an aching moment, brow furrowed, and takes a deep breath in. “You think I ruined your life?” she asks quietly.

“I –“ Eve lets her head fall back against the headrest of her chair, staring up at the peeling paint on the ceiling. “No,” she admits finally, softer than she intends. “You just – made it a lot more complicated.” She runs her hands through her hair, ignoring the way Villanelle’s eyes follow her movements. “Just - sit down, okay?” She says with a sigh. “I need to fit you with your earpiece.”

Villanelle drops onto the bed obediently. “Who wants boring anyway, right?” she tries, voice thick.

Eve snorts. “You do, apparently.”

She brushes away the loose strands of hair from Villanelle’s neck and then hooks the earpiece behind her ear. She watches as Villanelle’s shoulders rise and fall harshly against her touch.

“I want normal, not boring,” Villanelle says, looking up at her.

“Well trust me, normal _is_ boring. You wouldn’t last a minute.”

Villanelle frowns. “Maybe a normal life doesn’t have to be boring - if you spend it with the right person?”

Eve passes the wire to Villanelle, and looks away as Villanelle threads it through the inside of her dress. She hands Villanelle some tape to secure the small battery pack to the soft skin on the inside of her thigh.

Eve feels herself flush, feels a heavy ache land in the pit of her stomach and then travel further down. She fixes her eyes somewhere in the distance until Villanelle clears her throat.

“All done,” Villanelle tells her.

They’re interrupted by a loud knock on the door.

“The taxi is here,” Konstantin calls.

Eve takes a step back. “Right. Good luck?”

Villanelle taps her head wisely. “I do not need luck, Eve. I have prepared. I will see you later?”

“Yeah,” Eve answers on reflex, and then, “Sure. Okay.”

Villanelle nods once and then leaves.

The room is too quiet without her. Eve sinks into her chair and turns the audio equipment on, catching Villanelle and Konstantin mid-sentence.

“Remember, you are not to provoke her.”

“Sure.”

“And do not try to be clever, you get into trouble when you try to be clever.”

“Yes, Konstantin.”

“And you must not lose focus.”

“Me? Never.”

Eve settles into her chair, their voices filling the room, and tells herself that this isn't just Rome all over again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof sorry, i really struggled with this chapter – but here i am !! pushing through !! i hope everyone is well !! 
> 
> i have lots of questions for you guys, like: how are you doing? what have you been up to? does the plot make any sense? as always, comments are welcomed with OPEN ARMS


	7. i have eyes everywhere

Eve listens through her earpiece as Villanelle hums to herself in the taxi to the restaurant, tapping an offbeat rhythm against the car window. She doesn’t try to talk to Eve through the earpiece, and Eve appreciates it. Every so often she exchanges a few words with the taxi driver, and then 15 minutes later the engine cuts, the car door opens and –

“I’m here,” Villanelle tells her through the earpiece.

Eve sits up straight, opening the Isabel’s file out in front of her. “Okay, she should be sitting at the window table just in front of the kitchen entrance. If she says anything we’re not expecting, distract her and wait for my instructions. Understood?” 

“You are so bossy tonight, Eve. Do you enjoy telling me what to do?”

“That’s – please concentrate.”

She hears more footsteps, a voice, the muffled sounds of Villanelle shrugging off her coat, and then, “I see her.”

“Okay, good.”

There’s some more footsteps.

“ _Isabel Hernandez?”_ Villanelle says. “ _Mucho gusto.”_

“ _Villanelle_ ,” she hears being said back, slow, luxurious.

There’s a sound of lips being pressed to cheeks, and then Eve frowns through the introductions, all in Spanish, and what sounds like drinks being ordered.

“ _Entonces, hablemos de negocios_ ,” Isabel begins.

A pause. “I hope you don’t mind, but I prefer talking business in English. My Spanish is… not so good,” Villanelle lies.

“Oh, so the agents at MI6 will have an easier time understanding you?” Isabel says easily, in a thick, deep accent.

Oh. Fuck. Fuck, fuck –

Isabel isn’t supposed to have this sort of information on them. _Make sure Villanelle knows more about her than she does us,_ Carolyn had said. Barely a minute in and already this isn’t going to plan.

“Fuck, one moment,” Eve tells her, frantically searching her mind for an out.

There’s a beat of silence and then, “Don’t you think I know you’re working for MI6 now? I have eyes everywhere, Villanelle.”

Another long pause. Eve holds her breath, tense, unsure where to go. She could call Carolyn, maybe?

She hears Villanelle inhale a deep breath.

“God, you’re sexy,” Villanelle says, voice low.

Eve almost chokes. 

“And your reputation precedes you,” Isabel replies.

Villanelle takes a slow sip of her drink. “If it didn’t, I would not be doing my job well, don’t you think? But,” she sighs, calm, measured, “if you knew anything about me at all, you would know I don’t work for MI6. I am working alongside them temporarily, sure. But I don’t work for anyone. Please don’t pretend you know anything about me.”

A pause. “Why did you ask for this meeting?”

“Because I have something you want.”

“And how would you know a single thing about what I want?” It’s said slowly, lowly, and oh God – is she _flirting_ , Eve wonders with horror.

“I know more than you think. And I can give you _everything_ ,” Villanelle breathes out.

Great. This is how she’ll die. Not with a gunshot to her back, not from the guilt of _literally_ hacking a man to death, but from listening to the woman she – God, can’t stop thinking about? Listening to her breathe down her neck while speaking hotly to another woman.

It feels like her own body’s betraying her, the way Villanelle’s words land hot between her legs, an uncomfortable mix of arousal and jealousy. This is… not how Villanelle had been briefed. This is definitely not in the file.

There’s some rustling, and when Villanelle speaks again, Eve forces herself to focus. “This contains everything you need to know on The Twelve’s recent activity. Internal disputes, weaknesses. It could be useful, hm, if you wanted to go to the higher ups to make a case for taking over the central committee?”

A long pause. “What’s the catch?”

Villanelle sighs, dramatic. “Why must there be a catch?”

“There is always a catch.”

“Fine, there’s a catch. You leave us alone, you don’t look for us, you let us run. And you find whoever is responsible for the death of Kenny Stowton and you kill them. And Isabel? If you turn us in, I will personally make sure everyone you love dies a tragic, painful death.” There’s a pause. “If you are so powerful, if you have eyes everywhere, you will know I am serious.”

She hears the flicker of paper and then, “I think we have ourselves a deal,” Isabel says.

“Okay,” Eve says through the earpiece, finally able to breathe. “That’s – good.”

It’s only as they’re leaving that Isabel leans into Villanelle, so close to her ear it feels like she’s in the room, and whispers, “I have a hotel room not too far from here. Come with me?”

Eve pulls out her headphones immediately.

/

She doesn’t know how she ends up outside Villanelle’s room with a bottle of wine.

One minute she’s sat with her head back in her chair, staring at the ceiling for what feels like hours, and the next she’s across the road at the nearest corner shop with Google Translate up on her new burner phone asking for _vino tinto, por favor_ as the shopkeeper gives her a sympathetic smile and points to aisle 3.

And now – here she is, with hands so clammy she almost drops the bottle as she knocks on the door, unsure if Villanelle is even there. Because if she’s not, that’s – well, it’s whatever. Villanelle is an adult. She can do – whatever.

There’s some muffled swearing and then, “Leave me alone, Konstantin,” Villanelle shouts from the bathroom. “You know how I feel about your late night calls. The work day is over. I should join a union.”

She hears the faint sounds of a tap being turned off, the buzzing of the bathroom light, a loud exaggerated huff and the padding of feet, and then the door swings open.

Villanelle stands in front of her in a pink silk gown, head tilted to one side as she towel dries her hair. “Oh,” she says, her hands stilling. “Eve?”

Eve opens her mouth to speak but nothing comes out. She stares blankly, trying to form a coherent sentence, her heart pounding in her chest. It feels – painfully intimate seeing Villanelle like this, fresh out the shower, face stripped of make-up, in nothing but a thin gown. It feels – too quiet, too loud, too much, not enough.

“Room service?” Villanelle asks after a moment, her eyes dropping to Eve’s bottle of wine, one eyebrow quirked. 

Eve scoffs, feeling the tension break. "Oh shut up, you dick.”

“You smell like alcohol,” Villanelle says, scrunching her nose. “Have you been drinking?” She shimmies her shoulders a little. ”Are you an alcoholic now?”

“That’s – I’ve had one glass,” Eve says, and whatever, Villanelle doesn’t need to know that what she actually means is a few haphazard glugs straight from the bottle.

“Really.”

“Yes.”

Villanelle blows out her cheeks, eyes comically wide. “Okay, if you say so.”

“Well, I do. So.”

There’s a heavy pause, several expressions passing over Villanelle’s face, none of them settling long enough for Eve to get a read on her.

“It will take more than cheap wine to seduce me,” is what Villanelle says finally, though her voice lacks her usual edge.

“Good thing I’m not trying to seduce you.”

“Why are you here then, Eve? It is very late.”

Eve watches as an errant waterdrop falls from her Villanelle’s hair to her shoulders, and she swallows harshly. 

“Did you sleep with her?” she blurts out.

Villanelle watches her intently, head tilted. “Would it matter if I did?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Eve throws her hands up in the air, exasperated.

“You don’t know?” Villanelle echoes softly, eyes falling to her lips.

Eve groans, tilting her head back. “You are so –“

“So are you!” Villanelle says back, and Eve can’t help but smile just a little.

She meets Villanelle’s eyes to find her smiling too. “Just – drink with me?”

Villanelle’s expression softens. “Really, at midnight, you are here to drink with me?”

“Oh, come on. As if you’re going to say no.”

Villanelle holds her gaze for a moment, and then steps aside to let her in.

Her room is the exact same layout as Eve’s, but somehow even after only a few days it is already distinctly her. It smells like her, too – a heady mix of perfume and something else, something distinctly Villanelle, that hits Eve in the pit of her stomach.

Eve settles on the edge of her bed and takes a swig of red wine as Villanelle remains at the door, watching her carefully.

“I didn’t have sex with her,” Villanelle says after a minute.

“Hm,” Eve replies, as neutral as she can manage.

“You still don’t think I was professional tonight?”

“That’s –" Eve laughs. “No, not particularly.”

“But I got the information, didn’t I? I did what I was told.”

“Sort of, I guess.”

And then, slowly, slowly, a look of pure revelation lights up Villanelle’s face. “You are jealous.”

“I’m not _jealous_ ,” Eve splutters, standing up from the bed, indignant.

Villanelle takes a step closer to Eve, so close they stand chest to chest. “Would you prefer it I called you beautiful instead?” she asks, and there’s no way of answering that won’t ruin her, so Eve pushes the bottle to Villanelle’s chest instead.

Villanelle holds her gaze, taking a long swig, frowning disapprovingly, before setting the bottle to the side. She reaches up and brushes her hand up Eve’s neck until she is resting it on the underside of her jaw. Eve shudders out a shaky breath. “Would you prefer if it was you I took to bed at the end of the night?”

Eve is very aware of the sudden wetness between her legs. She swallows harshly, tries to steady her breath, tries to look at anything other than Villanelle’s mouth. 

Villanelle drops her hand, creating some distance. “It’s just work, Eve. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“God, you are so – “ Eve starts, but there are no words, there never will be, really.

And then before she knows it, she is reaching forward to bring Villanelle closer and kiss her.

It takes a moment for Villanelle to kiss back, but when she does her mouth is soft against her own, her breath warm and sweet, her hands gentle as they come to cup her face.

She doesn’t know what she expects, something harsher maybe. The bite of teeth against lips, the tug of hair. She’s thought about it enough times, about Villanelle taking control immediately, pushing her hard against a wall and grinding into her.

Now, though, she kisses Eve like she is something holy, something delicate.

Eve pulls back, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “I don’t –“ she begins, and then trails off. She studies Villanelle from up close, watches as her chest heaves against her own, harsh enough to induce a panic attack. Villanelle looks as ruined as Eve feels, and maybe for now that’s enough.

Before she has time to second guess herself she pulls Villanelle back in. She needs more. She’s always needed more. She’s so used to denying herself things when it comes to Villanelle, and now she’s given in she’s so full of _want_ it almost kills her.

Eve pulls away again, remembering her words. “This – I don’t – we’re not – you understand, right _?”_

Villanelle licks her lips, nodding. She’s already breathing heavily against Eve’s mouth and Eve feels it in the very centre of her, and then they’re kissing again, Villanelle moaning lowly into her mouth.

God, she’s not even drunk. She’s so, so painfully sober, and there’s absolutely no reason that she’s doing this other than she wants, she wants, she wants.

Villanelle’s hands are everywhere, tugging her closer, pulling her in, hands threaded into her hair. She distantly registers Villanelle tugging off her t-shirt. She pauses, and when Eve opens her eyes, Villanelle is frowning at the vest top underneath.

“Why are you wearing so many layers?” Villanelle asks, breathless, as she pulls it over Eve’s head.

“Shut up, we have aircon, I haven’t left my room properly in nearly three days.”

Villanelle nips at her bottom lip. “Always so many layers.”

“Oh my god, stop talking,” Eve says into her mouth, stepping back for a moment. “Just – take this off, okay?”

She tugs at Villanelle’s silk gown and when it drops there’s nothing on underneath.

Eve’s eyes dart to the ceiling, swallowing harshly. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she says, mostly to herself, trying desperately to steady her breathing.

If Villanelle’s awed expression is anything to go by, she can’t either.

“You are allowed to look, Eve,” she says softly. “I want you to look.”

Eve lets out a shaky sigh. “Right, yeah, of course.”

It’s the scar she notices first. _Her_ scar. A small, ugly scribble on her perfect, perfect stomach. Eve reaches out before she can help herself, tracing it lightly with her index finger, lost until Villanelle pulls her into a hungry kiss.

Villanelle lets out a quiet, breathy moan and oh God, Eve feels it everywhere. It runs down her spine and then somehow deeper, deeper, always deeper, until she can barely breathe.

She’s so wet already, but she’s too far gone to care. All she knows is she wants. She wants as Villanelle undoes her trousers, she wants as Villanelle slowly peels her underwear down her legs, kissing her thighs as she goes, bracing Eve’s hips firmly as her legs shake underneath her. She wants when Villanelle drops back onto the bed and looks up at Eve with challenge. She wants when she pushes forward and sinks into Villanelle’s lap, bracketing her thighs with her own.

Villanelle’s hands find her way to Eve’s thighs, running them higher, higher until she’s gripping Eve’s hips firmly as Eve grinds down desperately into her lap, moaning at the contact.

“I think about this a lot,” Villanelle sighs, running her hands up her sides. “Do you?”

“Oh God. So much.” It’s almost ridiculous how good Eve feels already, before they’re even touching properly. She’s light-headed and all she can feel is the hot, pulsing ache in the centre of her. “Touch me. Please. I need you to touch me.”

Thankfully she doesn’t waste any time. Villanelle dips two fingers into her, and Eve grinds down onto her palm, hard, heat spreading through her. 

“Fuck.”

Villanelle wraps a strong arm around her, taking her nipples in her mouth as Eve fucks herself against her fingers. She moans harder when Villanelle begins to circle her clit in small, steady motions with her thumb. Distantly Eve can hear herself swearing, a torrent of _fuck, fuck, Villanelle, please, Villanelle,_ but all she can focus on is the delicious stretch of Villanelle inside of her.

It’s –

Eve has always enjoyed sex. With Niko it was always – not bad, just practical, passionless, predictable. Now she rides Villanelle’s fingers, feeling a delicious tension build and build in her lower stomach, until her legs are almost giving way, and thinks that it has _never_ felt like this before. All those aching, empty months, all that pain, and now –

Eve feels her orgasm building, the tension licking its way up her spine. And then suddenly, Villanelle stills.

“What – no,” she starts.

Villanelle flips them over easily in a quick movement Eve can’t quite track, and suddenly Villanelle is straddling her waist, dipping down to kiss her neck. Villanelle’s body is warm and solid above hers. She feels it _everywhere_ and she whines, frustrated, because she needs more. She needs to be closer. She needs Villanelle inside her, she needs _anything_.

Villanelle pauses again, and Eve wants to say _just hurry the fuck up, don’t make me wait, make it quick, make it last forever, don’t stop, please_. But then Villanelle looks up, pupils blown wide, her hair tangled and ruffled and dishevelled in a way that makes Eve’s heart ache, and –

“I am going to use my mouth, okay?” Villanelle tells her, coming up to cup Eve’s face.

The gesture is so tender, it grips at her chest, squeezing and squeezing and –

Villanelle dips her head down and begins dropping wet kisses across her chest, and then her stomach. “I want to taste you,” she murmurs, nipping at her hip bone, “I want to feel you against my tongue,” she presses kisses to the inside of Eve’s thighs, “I want to hear you.” A pause. Eve swears she’s going to die, here in this decades-old fucking bed in Havana. “Are you loud in bed, Eve?” She sinks her teeth into Eve’s upper thigh and she barely recognises the moan she lets out as her own.

“Do you ever stop talking?” Eve groans, but her voice is so breathy it hardly has the intended effect, and Villanelle hums against her stomach, smug, so fucking smug. Except when she looks down to catch Villanelle’s expression, she doesn’t look smug at all. She looks as wrecked as Eve feels.

Finally, finally, Villanelle’s presses her tongue firmly against her, dragging slowly until she reaches her clit, and Eve grips at the bed sheets.

“Is this okay?” Villanelle asks into the very centre of her.

Eve nods over and over and _jesus, please, yes,_ she thinks, as Villanelle settles into a slow rhythm.

“ _Please don’t stop,”_ she hears, and she barely recognises her own voice. She sounds desperate. She feels desperate, and God, it doesn’t take much.

She comes with a long, breathy sigh, legs shaking uncontrollably as Villanelle kisses up her body and comes to settle above her, watching intently.

Eve struggles to regain her breath, but when she does, she pushes at Villanelle’s shoulders until she’s lying back against the bed.

Villanelle is shaking, Eve realises. There’s a thin sheen of sweat across her body, a tremor to her lip, and she kisses down her body, desperate to make her feel as good as she’s just made her.

She stills when she reaches her stomach. “I – I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admits with a sigh, pressing her head to Villanelle’s stomach.

Villanelle pulls her up gently, until they are face to face, and then takes Eve’s hand and brings it to her wetness.

“Touch me like this, okay?” she instructs, voice thick as she makes gentle circling motions over her clit with Eve’s hand.

Eve can’t help but moan when she feels how wet she’s made her.

“Is this okay?” she tries, repeating the motion.

“Yes,” Villanelle breathes, nodding furiously. “Yeah.”

There’s a stream of _Eve, Eve, Eve,_ and the rush of a thousand expletives in languages she doesn’t understand, and then Villanelle comes hard against her hand, quicker than Eve expects, her head burrowed in Eve’s neck.

They stay like that for long minutes, Eve’s hands coming to rest on Villanelle’s back as she remains collapsed on top of her.

“You are so –“ Eve tries again when Villanelle lifts her head to meet her eyes. And oh God, there’s no way this will end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY i have never written a sex scene in my LIFE comments are WELCOME as always WHATEVER


	8. you haven't even tried a cigar yet

Villanelle lies nestled between Eve’s shoulder blades, running her hands down her side with gentle, careful fingers. Eve sighs into it, loose-limbed and spent in the afterglow, willing herself to stay awake.

It’s – God, at this point, it’s pointless pretending there’s anywhere Eve wants Villanelle to be other than _close._ She feels it so deeply it’s instinctual, inevitable.

Villanelle’s brushes back up her arm, drawing absentminded shapes across her back, and then stills just above Eve’s bullet wound. She feels more than hears Villanelle’s sharp intake of breath before she runs her fingers over it, and suddenly Eve is wide awake.

“How did it feel – when you shot me?” Eve asks, her words cutting sharp into the quiet of the room.

Eve turns around until they’re facing each other, scanning over Villanelle’s features in the half-light of the early morning – the sharpness of her jawline, the smooth expanse of her neck, the delicate furrow of her brow. She’s so, so beautiful and it pulls at Eve’s chest, unrelenting, sitting heavy between her ribs.

“Eve,” Villanelle says thickly, her hand coming to rest on Eve’s cheek. She brushes gently, and when she pulls away her fingertips are wet.

“How did it feel?” Eve presses, pushing Villanelle’s hand away when she tries to move it back.

Her heart is pounding wildly in her chest now, nausea churning in her stomach and she just – she needs to be able to focus.

“Eve,” Villanelle says again, soft, so soft.

Eve shakes her head. “I – No. How did it feel?”

Villanelle watches her carefully for a moment and Eve waits – for anything.

“Loud,” Villanelle says finally. “It felt loud.”

Eve frowns, searching for more.

It’s not new, this desire to pick apart every part of Villanelle’s brain, every thought, every impulse, every feeling, but she feels it more acutely in this moment than she ever has.

“What else?”

Villanelle looks away, tapping her fingers against the bed. “Empty. Like taking pieces of you took pieces of me too.”

Eve sits up, holding the bedsheets to her chest. “What else?”

“Eve, please.” Villanelle reaches towards her, resting her hands on Eve’s legs, the sheet bunching at her waist and revealing the gentle swell of her breasts, the shadow of muscle on her stomach.

Eve ignores the heat licking at the base of her stomach, ignores her self-destructive urge to drag Villanelle’s mouth to her own and avoid this conversation entirely, because she wants more.

“I said _what else._ ”

She watches as Villanelle tenses and untenses her jaw, eyes fixed somewhere distant.

“I thought I had killed you,” Villanelle says, and there’s an unmistakable tremor in her voice.

Eve drops her head back against the headboard and sighs.

When Villanelle reaches for her again, Eve lets her.

“Sometimes you look at me and it’s like – you’re the only person that _sees_ me,” she tells Villanelle, turning to face her properly.

“Oh?” Villanelle says, thick, blinking away her tears.

“But – you don’t shoot people you care about. That’s – I know I’ve fucked up a lot, but I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing. You’re supposed to, I don’t know,” she gestures vaguely, “cheat maybe?”

“I would never do that.”

Eve snorts, fixing her with an incredulous look. “You would shoot me though.”

Villanelle at least has the decency to wince a little. “I – am trying to be better,” she frowns, “I want to be better.”

This time the silence is lighter, less intrusive, and Eve sits with it for a bit before Villanelle settles her head into Eve’s lap, her fingers coming to stroke her thigh.

“You said something – at Carolyn’s,” Eve begins, because she needs to know – she _needs_ to know. “About protecting me from The Twelve? I need you to tell me what you meant.”

Villanelle exhales a shaky breath, and she’s quiet for a long time before she sits up to meet Eve’s eyes.

“After Rome, The Twelve – they had a lot of… loose ends? That’s what Konstantin called it anyway. He said they thought it was me who killed Raymond at first,” she pauses, “which is rude because you made _such_ a mess, Eve.”

She makes a face. Eve stares back blankly.

“Too soon? Okay, well, lucky for you they thought it was me, and they really wanted to kill me, which was not so good because I had no money and no job and Konstantin was gone and you were –“

“Shot. By you. Thanks.“

“You were dead. I thought Konstantin might be dead too. But then he showed up on my wedding day –“

“Oh Jesus, you were being serious about that?” Eve groans, rubbing her temples. “Okay, whatever, we’re really going to need to circle back to that at some point.”

Villanelle waves her hand dismissively. “She was nothing. But - Konstantin showed up and told me he had a plan to get out. He – told me you were alive. He asked me to come with him.”

“And you said yes?”

“No. I thought he was lying.” Villanelle sits up straighter, licking her lips. “He is so full of shit most of the time, you know? I think he will say anything to get what he wants.”

“Uh huh. So?”

Villanelle pauses for a moment. “I said I would help him, but only if he helped me first,” she says. She stares off somewhere in the distance, a small frown pulling at her features.

“To find your family,” Eve finishes gently. “And he did, right?” She doesn’t think Villanelle’s ready for her to ask _why,_ but the questions sit lodged in her throat anyway: Why did you want to find them? Why then? What was it like – growing up? What were you like as a child? She keeps all these questions filed away, but she doesn’t ask them.

“Mmm, and when I got back to London the Twelve found me and – they must have realised it was you who killed Raymond?” She rolls her eyes, shrugs. “They are so slow, honestly.”

“Right.”

“They really didn’t expect that from you, Eve,” Villanelle says, a hint of pride in her voice. “They were – not happy. But that is what happens when you underestimate beautiful women, no?”

Eve lets out a laugh before she can help herself. “What, they murder people with an axe?”

“Sure.”

“Right, and then what?”

“I started working for Carolyn on the condition that you had –“ she pauses for a moment, and Eve realises she’s searching for the right word, “– witness protection. She agreed, but only if I did it. And… It’s like I said – you made it very hard for me to protect you. They kept sending very small, ugly men to kill you and you were not even locking your door at night. It was very tiring. You’re lucky I’m so good.”

Eve shoots her a look. “I mean – it is literally your fault this even happened.”

“Sure. Maybe Carolyn’s a bit too? And Konstantin’s?”

“Yeah,” Eve sighs wearily, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah.”

She yawns, and Villanelle reaches over and smooths over the skin on her cheeks.

“You’re tired,” she says softly. “You need to sleep.”

Eve’s eyes flutter closed involuntarily. “I – Yeah.”

“Stay?” Villanelle tries. “I will be big spoon.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh, would you prefer if I was little spoon? It is no problem.”

“No, I mean – I don’t know if I should stay.”

“In Cuba? But Eve, you haven’t even tried a cigar yet.”

She presses her lips together. “Villanelle.”

“ _Eve_. You need to sleep. Here,” Villanelle settles into the bed and pats the space beside her, “Lie down with me, come on. I will stroke your hair. Please? I’ve been practicing.” 

/

Eve wakes up to the sun heating her skin and a warmth blossoming in her chest. There’s an arm slung over her midriff and she turns to find Villanelle asleep, her breath coming out in gentle tufts.

She looks – God, she looks beautiful. Eve reaches out and brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a small smile pulling at her lips when Villanelle lets out a sleepy sigh.

She lets herself have a moment just to _watch_ , lets herself have several moments, and she’s just about to fall back asleep when her burner phone lets out a muffled ring.

Eve hauls herself out of bed and fumbles for her trousers, eventually finding them thrown haphazardly on the floor by the bed.

She checks the caller ID and accepts the call, her eyes drifting back over to Villanelle's sleeping form.

“Carolyn?”

“Eve. Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

/

It takes Eve a moment to register the sight in front of her, and then –

“Oh, what the fuck?”

Carolyn is seated at the breakfast table perfectly calm with a gun pointed to her temple. The man holding the gun is familiar, but Eve can’t quite place him. 

“Hello Eve, this is Rafael. Please take a seat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all your feedback has been so LOVELY i love you all here's another chapter i hope you enjoy


	9. tweedledee or tweedledumb

Rafael is a brutish man, in his mid-thirties maybe, a leather jacket coating his slender frame.

He grunts a hello to Eve, eyes still fixed firmly on Carolyn.

“Hi?” Eve replies hesitantly. She squints, turning to Carolyn. “Rafael as in –”

“The Twelve’s official representative in Havana, yes. Those two rather cumbersome men by his side are Pablo and Emmanuel.”

They give her a disinterested nod.

“That’s –”

“Not good, no. Quite awful actually. I must admit things have taken quite the turn. Just – sit down, will you? And for God’s sake Eve, keep your hands where they can see them.”

Rafael shouts something in thick, fast Spanish, pressing the gun harder into Carolyn’s head and Eve drops into her seat, hands in the air.

“We’re just waiting for Konstantin,” Carolyn explains calmly, “and Villanelle. I really thought she’d be with you.”

“Oh, uh, she was?” Eve says numbly. “Should I – “ She goes to reach for her phone, and suddenly there’s a gun pointed in the space between her eyes.

Another angry torrent of Spanish follows and then Rafael turns the gun back to Carolyn as she speaks to him in patient, clipped Spanish.

Rafael looks between Carolyn and Eve a few times, eyeing them both suspiciously, and then, “You can ring,” he grunts at Eve as Carolyn turns to give her a pointed look.

There are only 3 numbers in her burner phone, and she fumbles to click on Villanelle’s name with shaking hands. Villanelle answers after the second ring, sleep coating her voice.

“Eve?”

“Villanelle – we need you downstairs,” Eve says, and she doesn’t know how to subtly tell her to _bring a fucking weapon_ so, “Now,” she continues, firm, hoping she’s imparted some sort of urgency in her tone.

When she ends the call Rafael, Pablo and Emmanuel are talking between each other in low, hushed tones, and Carolyn is sitting perfectly still, eyes fixed ahead with her hands clasped in her lap. She looks like she could be in the audience at an opera, maybe. She gives nothing away, and Eve has an urge to take the gun and kill her herself. 

“Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?” Eve hisses.

Carolyn blinks. “It seems The Twelve have caught wind of our plan,” she says, in the same way someone would ask _do you take milk in your coffee?_ or _isn’t the weather just splendid today?_

“So –“ Eve prompts, struggling not to raise her voice. “What do we do?”

“We play it by ear, I would imagine.”

“That’s your plan?!”

Carolyn gives her a flat look. “I can’t say I planned for this at all.”

Eve sighs, heavy enough to draw Rafael’s attention.

“ _Tienes un problema?_ ” he asks, waving the gun in her face.

“Oh God,” Eve mumbles, sinking back into her chair. “No, no. No – _problema_. Please… continue.”

He opens his mouth to say God knows what, and then suddenly his attention is caught by something behind her. When Eve glances back, she’s greeted by the sight of Konstantin and Villanelle walking towards them.

Relief floods her system, and then just as fast she’s caught by a sickening dread, because she still has no idea what’s happening and _everyone is talking in Spanish_ and she has a funny feeling they’re all about to die.

“Sit,” Rafael orders, and Konstantin takes a chair obediently.

Villanelle holds his gaze for a moment and then falls into the seat beside Eve, one leg slung over the arm rest, looking between everyone with casual interest.

“What’s happening?” Villanelle whispers, so close her breath tickles at Eve’s ear. If she dies it would be a nice way to go, Eve supposes.

“I have no idea,” she whispers back.

Eve watches Villanelle as her eyes dart between Rafael, Carolyn and Konstantin while they speak, and then, “oh shit,” Villanelle says quietly.

Before Eve has the chance to ask what’s going on Villanelle gets up out of her chair walks towards Pablo and Emmanuel, slow and sure.

She fixes her eyes on the shorter of the two. “Which one are you? Tweedledee or Tweedledumb?”

She trips over the words with a thick accent and Eve is feeling hysterical enough that she almost bursts out laughing.

“ _Qué, puta?”_ the smaller one replies, a frown pulling at his thick brow.

“Ohh,” Villanelle rubs her hands together, eyes comically wide, “so you are Tweedledumb,” and then before Eve has time to process anything Villanelle’s hands are coming to the side of both their heads and smashing them together with a sickening thud.

They stand wide-eyed for a moment, mouths shaped in a perfect ‘O’, and then they fall unconscious to the ground.

Villanelle looks down at them with a grimace and then glances over to Eve. “See, Eve? It is just like I said. You can always count on them underestimating beautiful women.”

Rafael, on his part, seems unbothered that he’s now two men down. Eve is honestly having a hard time keeping up. 

“Sit,” he tells Villanelle, gesturing with his gun to the seat next to Eve.

Villanelle doesn’t sit.

“You are even more ugly in person,” she says instead, taking a step closer.

Rafael spits something back at her, and then brings the gun to her head.

Eve can’t see a weapon on Villanelle and she knows that doesn’t mean Villanelle doesn’t have one but _does she have to be such a dick about it?_ She turns to Konstantin, who has been unusually silent. “Do something!”

Konstantin’s eyes are wide, his knuckles white as he grips the side of his chair, and he turns to give her an incredulous look. “Be _quiet_ ,” he grunts.

The back and forth between Villanelle and Rafael continues, and Eve might not be able to speak Spanish but she knows enough about Villanelle and her body language to know she’s intent on pissing Rafael off.

Villanelle says something that makes Rafael laugh, loud and brash. He switches back to English when he says, “I have heard you do not kill anymore. I have heard you have lost your touch.”

Eve watches as Villanelle’s jaw tenses slightly, and then she’s smiling. “It’s not true. I am going to kill you.”

An ugly smile pulls at his mouth. “You are forgetting I have a gun.”

“Oh,” Villanelle begins, rolling her shoulders back. “You need a gun to kill me? You’re that bad?”

Rafael eyes her for a long moment, gun pointed at her head, and Eve loses the ability to think, to speak.

Then, without looking away, Rafael drops the gun to the floor and kicks it away.

There’s a moment of silence, and then Villanelle bursts out laughing.

“Wow!” she says, her eyes comically wide. “That was so stupid! You could have killed me just like that!" She shakes her head, disbelieving, taking a step towards him. "Now you are _really_ going to die.”

The next part happens so fast Eve barely has time to process it.

Villanelle turns back to Eve, mouth open with some sort of infuriating quip on the end of her tongue, at the same time as Rafael pulls out a small penknife from his jacket pocket, aiming straight for Villanelle’s neck.

Eve’s feels all the oxygen leave the room at once.

“Villanelle!” Eve screams. 

Villanelle turns around just in time, manoeuvring out of the way, but the knife still manages to tear into the soft skin of her upper arm.

She stumbles back, a pained scream tangled in her throat as she struggles to pull the knife out, and Rafael takes the opportunity to land a devastating blow to her jaw.

Eve is up and out of her chair before she has time to think, grabbing the closest thing to her –

A flower vase. Oh great.

Rafael turns to look at her, an amused smile on his face, and Eve freezes in place, the glass vase held high above her head.

It’s enough of a distraction for Villanelle to come up from behind to wrap her fingers around his neck, her knee connecting with his groin. He lets out a strangled groan as she backs him up against a wall, her hands holding firm around his neck.

Villanelle is screaming and screaming as she squeezes harder and harder and Eve doesn’t know what she expected. Something more like the calculated, calm evil Villanelle had exhibited when she threw Amber Peel’s keeper in front of a truck in broad daylight, maybe? Remorseless, taunting, mocking.

Now though, there are tears welling in Villanelle’s eyes, a devastating look on her face as she squeezes harder, Rafael struggling beneath her.

All Eve knows is she can’t look away.

She watches with rapt attention, heart thudding in her chest as Rafael’s eyes bulge, his limbs clawing desperately, until finally his leg connects with the back of Villanelle’s knee and she buckles before him.

He pushes Villanelle over, grabbing her by her shirt, raising the knife above her and –

Before Eve has time to think she is taking the vase and smashing it over his face, the shock of it enough for him to release his grip on Villanelle.

She thinks for a moment that maybe she’s knocked him unconscious, but then he opens his eyes, his face covered in blood and shards of glass, and reaches towards her.

There’s a piercing bang.

Eve keeps her eyes tightly shut, struggling to regain her breath.

When she looks up, Rafael is slumped against the floor, blood and brain matter splattered across the wall, and Villanelle is gone.

She turns to find Carolyn, perfectly poised, with the gun in her hand.

Konstantin is still seated, his hand coming to clutch at his heart, blinking rapidly.

“What a pathetic little man,” Carolyn comments, a small frown on her face. 

Eve gapes at her in disbelief, her heart heaving in her chest.

“What - what the fuck that?” Eve shouts. “What was any of that? Will someone tell me what the fuck just happened?”

Carolyn turns to face her, her expression perfectly unreadable, and then she pulls her phone out her pocket. “Clean up at _La Casa Rosada_.” A pause. “Yes, as soon as possible please.” 

Eve watches her incredulously as she puts the phone down.

“Right,” Carolyn says, looking up at Eve, “I don't know about you two, but I'm starving. Shall we discuss this over brunch?”

Eve makes a face. She opens her mouth to speak and then she stops, because Villanelle is gone and all Eve knows is that she needs to find her.

“Just - forget it. We’ll talk later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my GOODNESS i don’t know why i actively chose to write a fic with an action scene OF ALL THINGS but here we are. as always, please let me know what you think
> 
> & in other news - i’ve upped the chapter number to 12 (i’m just having a lot of fun ok?) & i’ve also started planning another fic, so 
> 
> i hope you are all well !!


	10. i'm a literal axe murderer

Eve finds Villanelle propped up against the shower on the bathroom floor, legs stretched out in front of her, illuminated dimly by the bedroom light.

Her eyes are closed, lips parted, blood splashed across her face, her chest, her arms, the beginnings of a bruise mottling at the corner of her mouth.

Villanelle’s stab wound is bloodied, oozing clear liquid already. A small first aid kit lies by her side. She’s managed to throw one stitch, but it’s messy and the skin around it looks puckered and raw.

It’s – _Jesus_. Eve has enough experience with bullet wounds to know it’s going to leave an ugly scar, enough experience to know she’ll get a nasty infection if it isn’t cleaned out properly.

She clears her throat, flicking on the light before coming to settle by Villanelle’s side.

“Hey,” Eve says softly.

“Eve,” Villanelle breathes, squinting against the harsh fluorescence of the bathroom light.

Eve brings a hand to Villanelle’s face, slow and careful, and watches as her bottom lip quivers, watches as she swallows once and then twice, watches as fresh tears spill down her cheeks.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Villanelle chokes out. “I don’t –“

Eve pulls her in and holds her to her chest. “It’s okay,” she says, soothing over her hair. “We’ll figure something out.”

She’s careful not to brush past against her wound as she holds her closer, closer, always closer. They stay like that until the harshness of Villanelle’s breaths mellow, until Eve’s arms are numb and her legs ache, until she feels Villanelle settle. It’s then, only then, that she pulls away.

“Come on,” Eve tries. “We need to clean you up.”

Villanelle watches Eve in a reverent sort of silence, the kind of silence that makes Eve far too aware of her own body. She says nothing, but her eyes track Eve’s face restlessly. She’s quiet, withdrawn, distant. There’s something there, Eve can tell. Something she wants to say or do but –

“Right, well, I’ve never done stitches before so it’s probably going to hurt like a bitch but yours aren’t much better so… arm out, come on.”

Eve works through the first aid kit methodically: she starts by disinfecting the area around the wound with careful fingers, wiping away the dried blood, her hands coming to squeeze Villanelle’s knee when she hisses in pain.

She applies the numbing cream, manages to throw three more messy stitches, and leaves the bandages out on the sink for after Villanelle has washed. Villanelle’s eyes don’t leave her face the entire time.

Once Eve is finished she gets to her feet and holds out her hand. “You need a shower.”

Villanelle blinks a few times and then takes it. Her hand warm in Eve’s own, and as soon as she’s up she reaches forward to pull Eve into a kiss. It’s soft and slow and unexpected and Eve can taste the blood from her split lip. Villanelle’s hand comes to rest in her hair, combing through her curls, and Eve sighs into it, a tentative warmth spreading in her chest.

“You’re not supposed to get stitches wet,” Villanelle mumbles as when she pulls away, keeping their heads pressed together.

“I - what?”

“In the shower.”

“Oh. Well – you’re covered in blood. Maybe we can just try to avoid your arm or something?”

“We?” Villanelle mouths, a wet smile tugging at her mouth. 

“Shut up,” Eve says lightly. She pauses. “Unless you don’t want to? I can wait.”

“Eve,” Villanelle breathes, “I want to.”

Her words land in the pit of Eve's stomach. Eve nods once, sure, and then busies herself getting the water to the right temperature while Villanelle undresses. When she looks up, Villanelle is stood naked in front of her, her expression soft, and Eve quickly shrugs off her own clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor.

She guides them both in, careful to manoeuvre Villanelle out of the way of the shower spray, and then takes a cloth to Villanelle’s body, wiping away the blood and dirt.

The silence is comfortable enough. Villanelle’s mind is still elsewhere. Eve can see it in the small furrow of her brow, the way her eyes refuse to settle anywhere for too long.

Eve’s catches sight of the blood as it swirls down the drain and she stares for a moment, transfixed.

Villanelle must misread Eve’s expression, because, “Do you think I am a monster when I am like this?” she asks.

Eve looks back up at her. She opens her mouth, searching for the right words. There’s a hundred things she could say right now, a hundred questions she could ask, but none of them feel right.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she says instead.

Villanelle is quiet. Eve waits, running flannel over Villanelle’s neck, her shoulders, her chest.

“I – I did something bad, Eve,” Villanelle says finally, swallowing thickly. Her eyes widen when she says, “Really bad.”

It’s only when the last of the blood runs down the drain that Villanelle tips her head back, blinks rapidly, and then says quietly, so quietly, “I killed my mother.”

“Okay,” Eve says slowly. The water falls noisily around them. Eve runs her bloodied hands under spray.

Villanelle heaves out a shaky breath. “I stabbed her – in the heart. With a kitchen knife.”

Eve studies her face. “Are you – How do you feel?” she asks, tentative.

“Like I should have never gone back.” Villanelle laughs, but her eyes are wet. “It was better when I thought she was already dead.” A pause. “You never answered my question. Do you think I’m a monster?”

“I think you are so many things,” Eve says.

“Oh?” 

Eve breathes out a shaky sigh. “I think you are intelligent and manipulative and beautiful. I think you’re hilarious and lonely and _such_ an insufferable dick when you want to be. But - I don't think you're a monster.”

Villanelle's eyes brighten a little. "You think I’m beautiful?”

“Oh –“ Eve scoffs, laughing despite herself. She quickly sobers. “You know - I can’t stop thinking about how it felt to kill Raymond. I replay it in my head constantly. I _enjoy_ it. Does that make me a monster?”

“You are not a monster, Eve.”

“But I’m not - I’m not normal.”

Villanelle licks her lips. “Sure, you are not normal. But -”

“I’m … oh god, I murdered him. With an axe. I’m a literal axe murderer.”

Villanelle reaches forward, her hand coming to rest on the underside of Eve’s jaw. She holds her there, stills her. “You saw what Carolyn just did. I know what Konstantin is capable of. In our line of work, no one is normal, no one is as simple as good or bad. It is so stupid to think any different.”

Eve nods. The water is cold now and it bites at her skin. She runs her hands over her face, exhausted. “Sometimes when I remember what it was like to kill him, I think about how I would have done it differently. I think about where I would have aimed the axe - about how much pressure I would have needed to use to get it in first time.”

“So you are a perfectionist,” Villanelle says easily. 

Eve shakes her head. “I think about the sounds – of bones breaking, of tendons, of spluttering blood. I used to think about killing you – all the time. And now I just –”

She thinks about Paris. She thinks about the tenderness in Villanelle’s expression, the shock, the way the knife had slid in _so easily_ , barely any resistance at all, the heat of Villanelle’s blood as it coated her hands. It had been so much hotter than she’d expected. She tries to imagine inflicting that sort of pain on Villanelle again and nausea churns in her stomach.

Eve shakes her head. “I just - how did we get here? Do you ever think about that?”

Villanelle’s hands come to turn off the shower. When she looks back at Eve, there’s a small, careful smile on her lips. “All the time,” she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’ll be honest – i really struggled writing this chapter and i’m still not happy with it but i’m posting it because GOOD RIDDANCE, you know? i'm ready to MOVE ON !!!
> 
> i've been reading so many incredible new fics at the moment (mostly work in progress) that i thought it might be worth leaving a couple here for anyone looking for more things to read … bc lets face it … lockdown is something else
> 
> the guillotine hums – liraels (politician au, very clever, i’m VERY excited for the next chapter)
> 
> season 3: the scripts – laflashdrive (an alternate s3 written in script format – i’m on script 3 or 4 at the moment and i feel like i’m watching the actual show. mad)
> 
> lost on you – charizona (there are no words honestly just read it for yourself)
> 
> there are so many more i could add. people are so talented ???
> 
> i would love to hear some of your recs too !!


	11. would you prefer to talk about women with guns?

Villanelle changes into that same ridiculous bright orange pyjama top she wore on their first night in Havana. Outside the midday sun filters through the curtains, turning the hazel of Villanelle’s eyes gold in the light.

Eve smiles, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and Villanelle leans into her palm, content. Eve has no idea how long they stay like that. She doesn’t want to know. She doesn’t care.

All that matters right now is Villanelle, and she can feel her – _everywhere_. She can feel her against her neck, lips biting and sucking. She can feel her in the press of her thigh between her own. She can feel her in the heat that pools in her stomach, wanting more, more, more, always more. She can feel her in the moans that vibrate against her skin, in the curl of tension that licks up her spine, in -

They’re interrupted by the shrill blast of Eve’s burner phone as it rings. Eve groans, dropping her head back. She fumbles to find it, only to see that it’s Carolyn. She rejects the call and throws it to the bottom of the bed.

Villanelle props herself up onto her elbows. “Carolyn again?”

“Yeah,” Eve sighs, pulling her back in. “Ignore it.”

She shivers as Villanelle’s hands come to entangle themselves in her hair. The kiss is slow, Villanelle’s lips warm and soft against her own until she pulls back.

“Eve?”

“Mm?”

“Do you trust Carolyn?”

The question takes Eve by surprise. She considers it for a moment. “I trust that she’ll protect us as long as we’re useful to her. Do you trust Konstantin?”

Villanelle looks up, blows out her cheeks. “Konstantin loves me, sure. I am his favourite.”

“But do you trust him?”

“I think – he will always put himself first.”

“And that’s okay with you?” Eve asks.

Villanelle shrugs. “Most of the time that means putting me first too. He is – like family. And families can be messy, no?” she adds, pouting a little.

“Yeah,” Eve says, trying to smile. “What happened – between Carolyn, Konstantin and Rafael I mean?”

“Oh,” Villanelle frowns, “I’m not sure. There was a lot of shouting – about Isabel mostly, but also loyalty? I think Carolyn had promised him something. It was confusing for me too.”

“And what were you saying to Rafael?”

“Ah. I was just bruising his ego enough that he would drop his weapon. It is so stupid, seriously, but it works every time.”

“Jesus, what a mess,” Eve sighs, running her hands through her air. “You know, I think you’re the only person I can trust.” The admission takes her by surprise. She sinks back into the bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling, steadfastly ignoring whatever reaction Villanelle has. “God - I miss Kenny. I miss him so much. I miss Bill. I miss knowing I was going to die in a retirement home at 86.”

The conflicted look on Villanelle’s face is something close to an apology, Eve is sure of it, but she cuts her off before she has time to speak.

“I made choices that brought me here, Villanelle. _I_ made those choices. I’m not saying you weren’t a massive dick at times, but… I’m here right now because of the decisions I made. It feels sort of nice, actually.”

“Oh?”

Eve smiles. “Yeah.” She pulls Villanelle back in. “Now, please can we stop talking about Carolyn and international crime syndicates and weird men with guns,” she says lowly.

“Would you prefer to talk about women with guns?” Villanelle murmurs against her lips.

“You –“ Eve begins, and then stops when her phone starts ringing again. She fumbles to silence it.

“You should talk to her,” Villanelle says gently. “Maybe then your mind won’t be so loud all the time, hm? I can hear you from here.”

/

Eve finds Carolyn sat on the steps outside the cathedral in _Plaza Vieja._ It’s a needlessly long walk, and it’s clearly about to rain, and Jesus, Eve is so done with Carolyn it’s almost painful.

Still, the old square is stunning - all pastel blues and oranges and yellow. Eve imagines Villanelle sitting in one of the cafes here taking small sips of her coffee. She’d be in something completely ridiculous or effortlessly beautiful, and people would try not to stare as they passed by.

Instead it’s Carolyn who greets her, lifting her head to barely a nod and gesturing to the spot beside her. Eve takes a seat, crossing her arms and keeping her gaze fixed in front of her.

“Thank you for joining me. You’ll be pleased to know Isabel’s proposal has been accepted,” Carolyn begins. “The change in The Twelve's central leadership is happening as we speak.”

“What?” Eve frowns. “How is that possible? Has it even been 24 hours yet?”

“These things have a habit of happening very fast once the wheels are in motion,” Carolyn says. She produces a brown paper bag from her handbag. “Pastry?”

Eve eyes her suspiciously for a moment and then grabs the bag. It’s – whatever. She might be angry, but she’s also starving. She rummages around, finds something close to a cinnamon bun and shoves it in her mouth.

“I don’t understand,” she says, mouth full, wiping the pastry flakes from her mouth. “Isabel’s plane has barely even had time to land.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard of the internet, Eve," Carolyn says. "It’s a fascinating place. You’d be surprised by the sheer number of things that take place over Zoom these days.”

“You’re telling me Isabel Hernandez launched a coup against the Twelve’s central committee… over video call?” 

Carolyn pauses, a small, thoughtful frown pulling at her brow. “Well – not quite. Isabel would have had people stationed in Europe already. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Stranger things have happened.”

Eve pauses, and then swallows her bite. “So that’s it? This is over?”

“Yes,” Carolyn nods, “you are free to go.”

“Right,” Eve says. Except – nothing’s right, nothing makes _sense_ , and her curiosity quickly gives way to irritation. She clenches her jaw, foot tapping against the ground.

“I have a question,” she says before she can help it, “Just - answer me seriously, okay? Don’t bullshit me. I mean it." She waits a moment and then, "Are you part of The Twelve?”

Carolyn’s face betrays nothing, but she does take a moment to brush her hands over her lap. Around them children scream excitably and couples walk past hand in hand.

“I have held positions within it in the past, yes,” Carolyn says finally.

A bitter laugh falls from Eve’s lips. “Of course.”

“Don’t look at me like that, Eve. I did what I had to do to make up for the death of my son.”

Eve looks away, shaking her head. “And to climb the ranks of The Twelve, right?” she bites back. “Oh, come on. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me Isabel won’t be offering you a position now that she’s in charge.”

Carolyn’s face is unreadable. “Sometimes the things we do for others and the things we do for ourselves happen to overlap. Murdering a man intent on killing your psychopathic lover, for example?” A pause. “Oh, you thought I didn’t know?”

Eve opens her mouth and then shuts it promptly.

“Don’t look so worried. The evidence was destroyed. I’m rather impartial to a crime of passion, you see.”

Eve’s fear is immediately replaced with exasperation. Great, so Carolyn knows she’s a murderer. Whatever _._ It’s not as if Carolyn didn’t literally _shoot_ a man this morning. It’s not like she didn’t reduce him to an empty pair of glassy eyes and wet, hot brain matter in less than a second.

“Why did you even bring me here?” Eve asks with a sigh. “What was the _point_ of any of this?”

“I thought you could do with the fresh air,” Carolyn says.

Eve stares blankly.

“Well – isn’t it obvious?” Carolyn continues. “Because when you and Villanelle are together you are unpredictable, and I need unpredictable when I’m out of options. Plus, there was no one else reckless enough to say yes. You can be terribly short-sighted. It is incredibly useful to me.”

“Right.” Eve presses her lips together and nods. “And what about Villanelle?”

“What about her?” Carolyn replies impatiently. She pauses before she continues, “Oh – good lord, Eve, you don’t walk into the heart of an international crime syndicate without a weapon.”

“A weapon?” Eve repeats, incredulous. “That’s what she is to you? You saw her with Rafael, she doesn’t want this.” She shakes her head, disbelieving. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? And you made her do it anyway.”

“Villanelle might be having something of an identity crisis at present, but the fact remains that she is one of the best contract killers in Europe. I know the both of you are busy doing whatever it is you do when you’re together,” she pauses to gesture vaguely, “but you’d do well to remember that.”

“So you used her.”

“Yes,” Carolyn says, unblinking. “I keep people around when they are useful to me. You know that. Villanelle, the best contract killer in Europe, is useful. A twenty-something with a poor command of Microsoft Excel and a complicated family history is not.” There’s a brief pause and then, “I’d like to offer you a job.”

“With MI6 or The Twelve?” Eve asks flatly.

“MI6. Intelligence for the Central American office, mostly. You will be based here, given a decent enough salary – an apartment too, should you wish.”

Eve crosses her arms. “And what if I refuse?”

“Well. As far as I am aware, you are homeless and jobless.”

“I thought I was working for you,” she says, stubbornly

Carolyn nods. “You were. However, that post no longer exists. And from what I can see, you happen to be in Havana without any real identification.”

“So you’re threatening me?”

“No. I’m merely stating a fact – offering you an out.”

Eve laughs, humourless. “Right. And what about Villanelle? I’m not accepting whatever this is without her.”

“Goodness Eve, do you ever think about anything else?” she asks, sighing when Eve just shrugs. “Villanelle has been - something of a loose cannon of late. I’m not too sure I require her specific skillset at this moment in time.”

“So reassign her.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“How am I the ridiculous one? She speaks, Jesus, I don’t know? 5 languages at least.”

“8 the last time I checked.”

“Right, and she’s capable of immense social manipulation. She’s _clever_. She’s creative. She’s the type of person MI6 employs all the time.”

Carolyn shakes her head. “She’s a liability. And you are overstepping. We’re done here,” she says, standing up. “If you’re still interested in the job, call me by the end of the day.”

Eve stands up to meet her, looking her straight in the eye when she says, “You know what, Carolyn? You can take your job and shove it up your ass.”

/

Villanelle is nowhere to be seen when Eve returns back to the hostel, but she has left a note on Eve’s bedside table:

_La Guarida, 7pm. Wear something nice X_

Eve takes out her phone and Googles the name, almost choking when she sees the price rating on Trip Advisor. God, she is going to _kill_ Villanelle.


End file.
